


Riptide

by Misaya



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Jean Kirstein, Day At The Beach, I guess? I'm not sure if it actually is, I'm so confused about what to tag this tbh, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tentacle Sex, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misaya/pseuds/Misaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean spends the last days of his summer vacation on the beach, sipping icy beer and getting sunburns all over his shoulders. </p><p>And maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the sun, but he swears the shadows in the corner of the secret grotto he's swum out to just moved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riptide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corrosive_Serenity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corrosive_Serenity/gifts).



> For Tumblr Prompt from commanderbolo: I hereby subtly slide you a prompt request. Our dear love Jean Kirschtein and his misfortunes at the beach. Tentacles involved. (╭☞ ͡ ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡ ͡°)╭☞ you feel me?

The sun beat down on the crown of Jean’s head, the rays getting lost in ash blonde hair tinted just a slight shade of green from all the swimming he’d been doing. This summer had been a real scorcher, and he’d spent most of it lounging under the ceiling fan, floating lazy in the pool, and sucking on fruit punch flavored Popsicles. He had done everything he’d wanted to do this summer, which was absolutely nothing, and he was spending a last few lazy evenings at the seashore before school started back up again in a week.

Sighing wistfully at the sunset kissing the sparkling horizon with orange flirtations, Jean took another sip of the icy beer Connie had brought in a cooler. Time had passed all too quickly, and soon it would be time to head back to school in Chicago, bundling up against the wind and snow and fierce chill. His tan would go thoroughly unappreciated, unless…? He mulled over the prospects that awaited him; he thought he might have a fairly good chance with that one blond prepharm junior he’d seen in his biology classes more than once. What had his name been? Andrew? Armand? Something like that, Jean was sure.

The sun was dipping below the white crests of the waves, and draining his beer bottle and stashing the empty glass back in the cooler away from the eyes of prying lifeguards, Jean slipped into the water again. Strong steady strokes in the calm water carried him to the rocky outcroppings whose salt caps only appeared when the tide was at its very lowest, and Jean took a deep breath laced with the saline of the sea before diving below the swells, his fingertips skittering along the slick rock as he searched for the grotto entrance he’d discovered only a few weeks ago.

His lungs strained and burnt, the soft buzz of alcohol dancing before his eyes as he pulled himself through the lichen-slick tunnel, the water caressing his skin with cool fingers. Jean broke the surface of the water inside the grotto with a gasp that echoed off the rocks, the gleam of the water bouncing iridescent off the slick stones, blues and greens of all colors. Sun filtered down weakly onto the water’s surface from a small pinhole at the top of the rocks, painting Jean’s hair with milky light. He cast glances around the cave, his eyes growing used to the cool darkness of the grotto.

“Oh, hello there, sweetness,” the shadows in one corner whispered, and Jean started, the splashes loud in the silence. No, he must be imagining things, he thought sternly to himself, the by products of too much sun and too much beer.

But no, imagination could only take him so far, and the shadows were slipping towards him, a slick of sapphire catching the light as soft ripples caressed the surface of the water and the swells of the movement caught against Jean’s chest to match the suddenly violent pace of his heart.

Cold smoothness slicks against his legs, and he shivers as a chill darts tickling fingers up his spine. He chances a glance down; the shadows surround him, a soft undulation of gleaming dark cobalt and burnished gold on milky skin. Seaweed brushes against his calf, against his thigh, against his waist, and Jean watches in doubly visioned horrified fascination as the shadows break the surface of the water and spill into the light, features to mimic his own, but carved and cast in large blocks of marble so that Jean can’t help but feel small.

“Now then, lovely boy, don’t be afraid,” it whispered, sibilant syllables in his ear soft like the call of the ocean, and Jean’s fear ebbs away under the creature’s command. “I just want to play with you for a moment.”

Jean nodded slowly, his limbs loose, languid, lax while his gaze roamed over the man’s – the man’s? a voice asks him somewhere in the back of his mind – features. His lips were a pale pink that deepened into coral towards the center, and the shades of blue that he held in his eyes left Jean breathless with their intoxicating beauty.

“Would you like that, darling?” the man whispered, lips soft against the shell of Jean’s ear, and Jean gasped around a softly garbled moan of affirmation as slick scales crept between his legs, tracing and flickering up against his skin. He wondered if the man felt them, too, the monstrous fish that gathered beneath the surface, but he drowned slowly, surely, in the soft splashes of the waves against the rocks and the man’s kisses sweetly laced with the taste of the sea.

Sharpness shredded through the thin material of his swimming trunks, bright blue and green patches floating to the surface around him. A small flare of panic fluttered in Jean’s heart, and he wondered if the others had noted his absence, were looking for him. As if sensing this, the slickness wrapped tight around his waist, around his legs, holding and locking him in place underneath the man’s bright blue gaze. Kisses to the side of his neck, licking and tasting at his pulse, and Jean felt himself unraveling, curls of heat unspooling through his limbs held so securely as the sunlight danced cantatas across the planes of his cheekbones.

Weightless, the shadows parted Jean’s thighs sweet and easy in his intoxicated surrender, and Jean let his head loll into the crook of the man’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against the fleshy slits that lined the column of his throat and peering at the world through a film of milky crimson. A dream, he thought slowly to himself, his head stuffed with cotton. A dream, a dream, a dream, even as slickness wrapped around his cock and rubbed him gently to breathlessly aching hardness.

The man’s hands wrapped around his wrists, thumbs pressed tight against his throbbing pulse, and Jean admired the sheer size of the man’s hands in comparison, fingers circling his limbs like the most erotic of fetters.

The water crept higher up Jean’s chest, the soft swells lapping at the hollow of his throat as he strained against the coils holding him in their lovely grasps. Slickness rubbed against his entrance, and he gasped, a pause, a breath, the man’s mouth on his own to steal away the oxygen. Razor teeth gleamed into a smile as Jean’s body relaxed, slow, soft surrender, pressing into him and filling him full of himself.

Jean wriggled, squirmed, but the coils held him tight and fast. Panic and fear rose shallowly in his blood, and he struggled, but the alcohol rampaging gentle sways through his bloodstream and the man’s intoxicating gaze on his own weakened him into sweet submission. Coils slicked into him, out of him, into him again with a maddening rhythm that mimicked the ebb and flow of the waves, nudging and rubbing up against his prostate, massaging firmly with a touch that had Jean sobbing, his hips thrashing against the binds.

“God,” he hissed, biting down on his lip hard enough to taste blood.

“God?” the man asked, hypnotic inquiries and even more entrancing answers. “Just Erwin would be alright.”

Erwin’s fingers tightened around Jean’s wrists, hard enough to leave bruises, and Jean crumbled, collapsing, choking on his breath and gagging on the seawater that had risen high enough to dance against his lips. The shadows stole his orgasm from him in soft sweet strokes that had him throbbing and clenching, sobbing and shaking apart in Erwin’s embrace as he spilt himself in three strong pulses that dispersed into milky silver that gleamed in the last vestiges of the sunset.

Erwin pressed a kiss to Jean’s temple, gently working him down through the aftershocks that trembled through his body in waves. The coos of seagulls and the shouts of Jean’s friends filtered softly into the grotto. Erwin sighed with regret, the shadows unspooling from around Jean’s legs and limp body.

“It looks like you’ll be missed, darling,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the swell of Jean’s lower lip with something that almost felt like longing. “But say you’ll come back, hmm?”

Jean nodded tiredly, and with a grin, Erwin dragged him underneath, out through the slick lichen tunnel dark now with the evening gloam, and sent him on the next rough wave cascading back to shore.

“Jean! We were looking all over for you!” Sasha squealed, floundering out through the waves to get to him. “And where the hell are your trunks?” she asked, laughing as he stood up on shaky legs.

“Got caught in the riptide,” he mumbled, covering himself with his hands and awkwardly wading his way back to shore, where Connie flung him a towel with a look of good-natured disgust.

As he made his way up to where their cars were parked, a sweet ache spilling through his hips, Jean turned to look at the ocean once again, dark and forbidding with the inky night. The swells crashed rough across the sand, and the rocky outcroppings had been all but covered by the incoming tide.

Too much sun and beer, he’d tell himself firmly later in the shower, scrubbing away the sand from his thighs and the soles of his feet, but he wouldn’t have a way to explain away the bruises ringed red around his wrists like manacles.


End file.
